The Truth Behind the Betrayer
by lunabelledara
Summary: Everyone has reasons behind their actions: some do it for money, some do it for power, others even do it for fun. Petyr Baelish is just like any other man. Only he does it for a woman. Mixture of Book/TV-verse. Rated M for language, adult themes, and possible lemons later.
1. Prologue

Maegister Illyrio was no fool. He (with the help from his dearest friend, Lord Varys) had built up his home and his riches through sheer intelligence and cunning. He had also been asked many times as to why he took in the Targaryen children, when there was so much danger in taking them in. To all he said the same thing (in some form or another): "Can a man not care for and help the children of a dearest friend?" Yet he knew that the boy, Viserys Targaryen, self-claimed The Last Dragon, would never be king. Despite the talks of possibly marrying Danaerys to the Dothraki horselord, Illyrio knew that Viserys would never be able to command an army, let alone the entire Seven Kingdoms. But Illyrio knew that there was one Targaryen who could rule, and he knew exactly which piece he had to place…

* * *

"M'lady? Maegister Illyrio sends for you." The brown-haired slave girl peered around the heavy wooden door to locate her mistress.

"Thank you, Ilana, I shall be there shortly," the Lady's soft voice replied from her bed. Stretching lazily, she let out a sigh. And she had been having such a marvelous dream about riches, a dark haired man with a pointed beard, and a crown of golden thorns.

The Lady rolled out of bed and pulled a thin shift over her head. In Pentos it was hot, so there was no need for heavy undergarments, or even corsets. Grabbing her favorite dress, a silver-threaded beauty, she slipped it on and walked down the long hallway to Maegister Illyrio's chambers.

Upon finding him, sitting at his breakfast table, on the balcony overlooking all of Pentos, she announced her arrival by swearing loudly. Maegister Illyrio barely glanced up.

"Ilana, get the Lady something to break her fast on," Illyrio said sweetly. "And my Lady, you know you cannot speak to other highborns like that. It doesn't bode well for you. Especially in Westeros."

"Westeros, Illyrio?" the Lady asked him, then turned to Ilana and requested, "boiled eggs and the spiciest Dornish peppers you can find, please."

Maegister Illyrio leaned back in his chair, lost in thought. He placed his hands against his massive belly, twiddling his thumbs together, making his rings glint madly.

"I'm afraid so, my pet," he sighed. "Lord Varys has found the perfect place for you to be in Westeros. He has also found a match for you as well." The Lady sipped her summerwine and said nothing.

"As a matter of fact," Illyrio continued, "he is also a member of the King's own council. He is a shrewd, cunning man, the perfect businessman. He also knows how to play the game of thrones extremely well. Plus, he is not hard on the eyes for a man of his age, or so I have heard."

The Lady raised an eyebrow. "And just who is this man you speak of so keenly about?"

"His name is Petyr Baelish…"


	2. The Spider's Deal

The sun was just beginning to cast its light on the Red Keep, likening its walls to blood. The smells and sounds of the morning had just started to begin: the bakers with their breads, the sound of hammers on metal coming from the blacksmiths, and the occasional farmer wheeling his creaky cart full of wares through the streets. Most of the castle slept: the King snored through a drunken stupor, while the Queen cuddled closely to one of her female bedmates. The princes and princess were snug under soft blankets, dreaming of knights and beautiful women, war and tournaments. While all of this was happening, Petyr Baelish was pondering, as he was wont to do when he could not sleep.

He sat at his oak desk, fingers pressed together like the steeple on the Sept of Baelor, his dark eyebrows furrowed together from a long-past memory. He had not spoken to Catelyn Tully for years; Catelyn, that beautiful woman with eyes as blue as the waters around Riverrun and hair that shone like copper in the sun. The woman he had once loved with all his heart. Catelyn's sister, Lysa, was in King's Landing, but he did not often visit her. When he did, it was in secret, during the dead of night, to cure his loins of his ache for Catelyn. Sure, he could have any of the whores in any of his brothels, but none of them closely resembled Catelyn like Lysa did. Lysa loved Petyr, he knew, but he had no love for the crass, bold mouthed woman with the sickly son that she still breastfed. No, it was Catelyn he had cared for and loved, but he had buried those feelings long ago after he received his scar from Brandon Stark.

Brandon Stark, the proud fool. His pride and honor had gotten him killed, in front of the Iron Throne, no less. But Aerys Targaryen was a wickedly mad man, but he knew who his enemies were. Except for Tywin Lannister, one of the boldest and most cunning creatures that had ever stepped foot inside King's Landing; Petyr Baelish included. But without Tywin's help to Robert's Rebellion, Littlefinger might still be sitting at his tiny holdings, married to some lowborn wife with all the intelligence of a thimble. Instead, he was one of the richest men in King's Landing, proprietor of many whorehouses, and was the King's own Master of Coin.

"Littlefinger?" a timid voice knocked him out of his reverie.

"Yes, what is it, love?"

The petite girl with golden hair appeared, still half-naked from her last customer. "There is a man here requesting to see you. He looks to be a very rich one."

"Send him in," Petyr said, not unkindly. "Maybe we shall have a new returning customer."

"I'm afraid not, Lord Baelish," said an even-tempered, almost sickeningly sweet voice. A round man with black hair and watery eyes stood in the doorway; he was dressed in fine velvets from head to boot, with a golden clasp beneath his throat.

"Leave us child," the man said to the petite girl, bowing slightly. The girl scurried away, and the man turned back to Petyr.

"Lord Varys," Petyr said, a small smile playing on his lips, "I would not have recognized you if you had not spoken. It is a small wonder that you are called the Master of Whispers."

Varys smiled. "You speak kindly, Lord Baelish, yet you speak with consternation in your voice."

"Yes, well, we don't seem to have the same agenda, after all. Nor do we speak unless in the council's chambers. I wonder, what problems are you trying to bring to me?"

"You injured me, Lord Baelish," Varys said, offended. "I am here to bring you news."

"And what might that be?"

Varys sat himself across from Petyr, folding his hands together. "Oh, but I am so parched. Might I have some of your sweetest summer wine? To help me speak better, of course."

"Of course," Petyr said, slightly annoyed. He called out to Lysella, a serving whore with wide hips and brown hair. A short time later, Varys was sipping his cup, while Petyr drank deeply.

"Now then," Petyr said after Lysella had left, "what news do you bring that would be of any interest to me?"

"Oh dear, Lord Baelish, I'm afraid that someone has spotted you entering the Hand's tower some nights ago. Rumors do have it that Lady Lysa's son is not really Jon Arryn's."

Petyr laughed. "What do the gossip of the peasants concern me? I'd be much more concerned if you had told me that one of my whorehouses had burned to the ground."

Lord Varys' face remained impassive, but he continued. "In any case, the gossip has reached Jon Arryn, and when he asked the Lady Lysa, she neither confirmed nor denied, only deepening his suspicions. As the King's Hand, he does have the ability to behead you. Stannis Baratheon stands with him, and would probably cut your head off your shoulders himself, if allowed."

"This is true," Petyr sighed, but quickly raised an eyebrow. "Just why are you telling me this, Lord Varys?"

"Because I have need of an unmarried man, and this could be the perfect cover for yourself. There is a girl from Pentos, very beautiful and as delicate as a flower, I am told, and richer than even yourself. But she has no future there, except to marry a lowborn man or even one of those horrendous Dothraki Khals."

"Just why do you think I should trust you like this?" Littlefinger asked, taking another deep draught of wine.

"To put it simply, Lord Baelish, I owe this girl's ward-father a favor, and you owe it to yourself to keep your own head. Besides, the girl will have no troubles with your station, nor try to interfere with your businesses. She will sit out of the way, and no one but myself, you, her, and Jon Arryn need know."

Petyr sighed. Unfortunately, the eunuch had a point, and what good would he be if he couldn't keep his own skin?

"Fine, I shall marry the girl. But what else do you know of her?"

Varys gave him a small smile. "I am told she is as cunning as you are, but timid and fiercely loyal. She dances beautifully and has been taught by the best of whores on how to make love to a man. Yes, she is still a virgin, but that knowledge may come in handy for the both of you."

Petyr stroked his pointed beard. "I could always disguise her as a whore, if need be." He drained the last of his wine and stood up from his desk.

Varys nodded, then slowly rose from his seat. "Then, Lord Baelish, do we have an agreement?"

"Yes, Lord Varys, we do. Send for the girl; I'll marry her, seems how I have no other choice."

"One always has a choice, Lord Baelish. You seem have chosen the right one this time. Oh, I forgot to mention, her name is Lady Melyssa Champagne. I sent for her a month ago, hoping that I could find a match for her by the time she got here. It seems that I was right. She will be here within a fortnight."

Lord Varys turned to leave, but Petyr spoke to his retreating back. "She may have an odd name, but there's not much else to say if she's rich."


End file.
